It Goes Both Ways
by insertcleverandwittytitlehere
Summary: Love is fierce and love is gentle. It's heart-moving and heartbreaking at the same time, as Draco Malfoy knows. And that pesky little thing called communication... well, it goes both ways.


**A/N:** This is the Chudley Cannons Keeper checking in for Round 5 of Season 6 of the QLFC.

 **Prompt:** Use the title of a story written by your Seeker for inspiration. I have chosen the story "It goes both ways" by our lovely Seeker, fightfortherightsofhouseelves.

 **Word Count (before A/N):** 2,234 words

 **I am not JK. This is her world. I merely dabble in it.**

* * *

He knew it was going to happen before she even looked at him.

Her soft, warm grip shook free of his, leaving his hand to slap against his thigh. A lump rose in his throat as his heart _thump thumped_ in time with the music blasting around the crowded dance floor, speeding up as she finally turned to look at him. Her green eyes— _Merlin!_ they were green enough to be emeralds dazzling in the moonlight—welled up with tears.

"I can't do this."

It was a whisper, but somehow her words were louder than the animalistic swill, the cacophony of a hundred bodies jumping to a hundred different beats. Shouting and yelling and dancing, every single person enraptured by the live band, the strobing lights, the stale air riddled with the scent of alcohol and sweat.

Draco couldn't hear any of it. Couldn't see any of it. He could barely breathe. There was only him and Astoria and she was turning away, leaving, pushing through the ebb and flow of body parts. She didn't even make it to door before Disapparating.

Alone and heartbroken for what felt like the millionth time, Draco dragged himself over to the bar, ordered a firewhiskey, and sat hunched over his drink, unable to bring it to his lips.

He loved that bloody woman. So much so he would die for her if she'd let him. (She wouldn't, of course. But he'd still do it—die a hero's death as if her life depended on it.) Yet lately their love felt strained, like an invisible thread was slowly pulling them apart. An indescribable rift was chiseling its way into their happiness.

They'd been together for four years, and while the start had been anything but smooth, they'd blossomed into something real. Something Draco could believe in.

He was cold and callous in the beginning. Not because of her, but because of who he was. What he came from.

It was Astoria who saw him underneath the Death Eater mark. It was Astoria who pulled him out of his drunken stupor, cleaned the vomit off his robes, and forced him to see the man he could be. The man he was now.

Draco shook his head, the memory of her pleading with him to love himself the way she loved him popping up like a long-forgotten memory. He looked down at the firewhiskey, breathed in its acerbic scent and pushed it away. He hadn't drank in two years; he wasn't about to start again no matter how broken or confused he felt.

He stood, letting the eyes of the nightclub's patrons rest on him. He watched their averted gazes and felt their whispers as they began to recognize him. But Draco barely noticed that anymore, all because of Astoria. She didn't just save him from himself; she saved him from everyone else, too.

Outside, Draco took in a deep breath. The night air was cool against his skin, the stars twinkled above Diagon Alley like little specks of glitter and gold. The nightclub faded, and his thoughts finally felt light again, lifted by the quiet, framed by the peace of a midsummer night.

"Bloody hell, woman," he whispered into the darkness. With his hands shoved deep inside his black robes, Draco began the long walk home.

When the war ended, the Malfoy family was caught up in innumerable legal hearings. For months, they practically lived at the Wizengamot. Their wands were confiscated, their home was ransacked, and the whole of their lives was on display for all of wizardom thanks to the Prophet.

In the autumn, Draco was ordered to re-attend his seventh year at Hogwarts with the sole purpose of reforming him and any other child of a known Death Eater. They were forced to take Muggle Studies with the third years and attend a weekly session with McGonagall, where they would talk about what had happened. How they had chosen darkness over light.

No one talked to Draco for the first few months outside the classroom. No one sat with him and everyone stared.

And then…

Astoria had a heart big enough to house every lost soul on the face of the earth. But she chose _him_.

Two years his junior, this bright-eyed, raven-haired beauty stole his mind, his thoughts, his heart. Nothing he did could escape the thought of her. She was like the long-lost beacon of hope Draco had given up on at the end of his fifth year. And she could make him _laugh_. Merlin, her tongue was as quick as a needle and as sharp as a sword. When she wanted to get a rise out of someone, it didn't take much more than a quick comment and her unfailing wit.

He loved her before he knew what that word truly meant.

But he felt like he was tainted, and the last thing Draco wanted was to drag her down into his family's shite, so he pushed her away, drank himself silly, and tried to drown out his sorrow with sleep.

Astoria didn't budge.

"Talk to me," she begged. "You _talk_ to me, dammit!"

How often had she said that? How often had Astoria screamed at him about that very thing: communication.

Draco did talk. Eventually. He told her everything, about his father's imprisonment, about his mother's attempts at suicide, about how worthless he felt. About how he could never come back from this. Never.

And just by talking, something began to open up inside him. Draco saw that he could come back, he could do something, be something. Be something for _her_. Every time things got a little too much for him, he could see the pain in her eyes. Every time he talked scathingly about himself, he could feel the love and anger in her voice.

He wanted to be that person for her, the person who saw nothing but good, who wanted nothing but happiness. He needed her to know she was loved so unwaveringly it practically hurt.

So he quit drinking. He buckled down. He studied and became the best goddamn Healer in his year. He dedicated himself to bringing a healing hand to the pain he once caused. And he loved her with all his soul for four years, and now she was pulling away.

Draco tried to bring her to different venues—nightclubs, restaurants, the beach, the mountains—in the hopes of pleasing her, but they all ended like they did tonight. They would get there, they would walk around, hands held together like the tips of their souls intertwining, and then she'd leave. No words, nothing. Just tears and then she was gone.

The first few times, Draco followed her, but she wouldn't let him into her flat. After that, he'd let her go, another piece of his heart chipping away. He worried there wouldn't be much left if they continued like this.

The next day, Astoria would show up at his place like nothing happened. She'd be cheerful, pleasant. She'd kiss him like she needed his lips to help her breathe, and that was that. No explanation to be found.

"Talk to me," Draco whispered again, angrily wiping away a hot tear. "You have to _talk_ to me."

His breathing shallowed, he stopped walking. He looked up into the night sky. For so long he refused to speak. Not again.

Draco pulled out his wand and Disapparated. When he landed, he didn't hesitate for a moment; he blasted open the door.

Astoria jumped up, her long, dark hair framing her tear-stained face. She had been sitting on her couch in the dark, but now her eyes were wider than saucers, her lips parted to form a perfect _o_ in shock.

Draco thought about turning on the lights, but words were already pouring from his mouth.

"You keep doing this and I don't understand it. I love you, Story. I'd do anything for you! But I can't keep doing whatever this stupid dance is. I can't! It's killing me."

"Draco, I—"

"No. No! You can't keep running off. Every time we go out, you leave. Every time I think things are fine between us, they're not. I don't want to feel like this every bloody time we're together. I don't want to be abandoned every time we go out!"

His words lingered in the air like little drops of mist slowly soaking into Astoria's ears. Draco drew in his breath, his mind ten steps ahead of him, his heart beating against his chest like a caged beast.

"You remember that communication thing you kept going on about?" he said. He wanted to lace his speech with the venom he felt, but somehow he couldn't. Not to her. His words, instead, came out desperate, broken. Sad. "Remember?" he choked on the words. Tears began to push against his eyes, but Draco had to tell her what he felt now or never. "It goes both ways, Astoria. So now it's your turn to talk to me, or else I'm going and I'm not pretending it's okay anymore."

"Draco—" Her face crumpled. Her hands flew up to block her eyes and against all better judgment, Draco pulled her into him and let her cry in earnest. He cried too, his salty tears tickling the corners of his mouth as he breathed in the lilac scent of her hair. She felt so little in his arms, so fragile. Had he been too mean? Maybe breaking in was not in their best interest.

But it was done and maybe, just maybe, he'd understand. That's all he wanted. To understand. And to love her, of course. Unwaveringly, like she deserved.

"I can't stand it," she finally squeaked out, her words muffled beneath her hands that still covered her face.

"Can't stand what?" Draco's heart sank, his inner demons already playing with her words, taunting him with a s _he can't stand you_ , _she can't stand you, she can't stand you._ He brushed that aside.

"Them," Astoria looked up at him. In the dark of her flat, her eyes looked like two black pools deep enough to hold all the secrets of the universe.

"Who?"

"Them. The people who stare at you."

Draco looked at her, confused. " _Who_?" he repeated.

"Everyone!" she threw her hands up in the air, her fingertips spread wide as if to show the elusive everyone she was talking about were just above their heads. "All those bloody _idiots_ who see you and snicker and whisper and point and stare. I can't stand it, Draco! I can't!"

Now she was pacing the floor. Draco sank into one of her reading chairs and watched her move back and forth across the length of her flat.

"Not to sound like an owl, my darling, but who? _Who_ stares?"

Astoria stopped in her tracks. She looked around and as if just realizing they were still in the dark, used her wand to turn on the lights. She closed the door Draco had left open and finally looked him in the eyes.

"When I say everyone, I mean _everyone_. Don't you see it? Even after all this time—"

"That bothers you?"

"Of course it does!"

"But why?"

"Why!"

"Yes," Draco said. "Why?"

Now Astoria looked confused.

"You've worked so hard," she said. "You heal people. And yet all they see is some—"

"Ex-Death Eater?"

"Yes!"

His heart was sinking again. "It bothers you to be seen with me?" he whispered, unable to look at her anymore. He once drowned in sorrow. He felt the familiar signs of slipping under starting to pull at him again.

"What? No. Draco, _no_ ," she knelt in front of him, holding his face in her hands, her fingers warm against his skin. "Gods, I've hurt you. I didn't mean—I didn't think."

Draco watched her take in a slow, calculated breath. She exhaled, the air warm against Draco's cheeks.

"I'm pissed they don't see the man I see. I'm pissed they don't love you the way I love you. I'm pissed they think it's okay to gawk at you when really you are somebody and they're the ones who are nothing."

"I love you," she said, her fingers becoming tighter around his face. "I love you, Draco Malfoy, and it breaks my heart to see those judgmental, stupid _cows_ staring at you like that. Because you are _everything_ to me. I should have said it sooner. I shouldn't have run out each time like—"

"I don't see it anymore."

"—I did." Her grip finally loosened as grey eyes met green. An eternity passed before she whispered, "What?"

"I don't see the stares, Astoria. I don't see it, and I'm not saying that to make you feel better or to stop your worries or anything like that," Draco slowly took her hands in his and pulled her into his lap. She came willingly, no longer fragile like glass but as strong and as elegant as mithril. "I just see you."

"Draco—" but once again he cut her off, stealing her lips in a kiss. Pouring his every wish and desire into that one moment. He wrapped his arms around her, felt her body pull flush against his, felt her sighing into his arms like she was finally home.

Whatever rift he felt growing between them snapped shut. He ripped away the invisible string pulling them apart and tore it to shreds. This was his rock, his home, his everything. When they pulled apart, Draco rested his forehead against Astoria's.

"Please don't ever shut me out again. I almost drank tonight."

"No you didn't," she smirked at him.

"I did," he said. "Ordered it and paid and everything."

"I bet you sniffed it once and pushed it away."

"How did you—"

But she was kissing him again, the both of them melting into each other until the sun rose and the night faded into nothing but a memory.


End file.
